A Child from Hell

For a lot of people, a day off from school due to sub-zero temperatures is a time where families will find something enjoyable to do. Maybe some will crowd around the television set and watch a classic movie that touches the hearts of all generations. Some may host a family game night filled with genuine smiles and priceless laughs. Or maybe it’s just one of those days where sitting on the coach together sipping huge mugs of rich hot cocoa is just what the doctor ordered. My family on the other hand didn’t do any of these bonding activities. Actually, we didn’t do anything even remotely close.

So what did we do?
Exactly what my family does best. That’s right . . . we fought.

Though all fights in my family tend to be quite horrible, this bloody attack was particularly abominable. Not only did this battle include verbal assaults tainted with words infected with hatred, it also included severe physical brutality.

It all started when I came back from a therapy appointment. It wasn’t like this appointment was extremely difficult, but it was tiring. I talked about my horrendous Christmas vacation (which was more like a Christmas hell than anything else) and discussed the embarrassing incident where my father caught me purging. I also mentioned the ridiculous medical shit I am going through which filled me with anger and frustration.

When my dad picked me up from my therapist’s office to take me home, I expected my dinner to be prepared. I just wanted to go home and see everything was completely normal and on schedule, just as they belong. But when I asked my father if he had completed dinner, he said he was too busy to do so. I was greatly angered by this. It was like the piece of straw the broke the camel’s back.

By the time we got home I was engulfed in rage. Incredible amounts of adrenaline pumped through my fat veins causing whatever logic and coping skills I had to instantly disappear into thin air. As I angrily prepared my bland, tasteless dinner, my dad informed me about the fact that I had TWO FUCKING doctors appointments the next day (one for eating disorder shit and the other for my mystery ailment). That’s when I completely turned into a child from hell. I screamed and threatened to cancel my appointments using my online health account. My mother immediately acted upon this threat and barged into my room to remove my computer. I tried to grab it from her and I wouldn’t let go of her. Yelling at the top of her lungs my mom screamed for me to let go but I wouldn’t dare give up. My overweight father then raced in and using his gigantic hands, he pulled me off my mother. Somehow though, I broke free of his grasp and took hold of my mother’s arm. That’s when things got bad. My mom then kicked my legs and flipped me onto my back.

I hit the floor hard and I found my self unable to move or stand. My body was consumed in horrendous physical pain. My mom screamed at me that that was what I deserved and commanded me to get up. Like I said, I couldn’t. Though I told my legs to move, somehow the message was getting lost. After at least 5 minutes of me laying motionless and breathless, my mom dragged me to my bed and threw me on it.

Eventually I unsteadily and painstakingly got out of my bed and nibbled on some food. I remember my parents tried to talk to me and I remember the words “I’m sorry” coming out of my mouth, but other than that, the rest of that night was a complete blur.

All I know is that I went to bed knowing one thing . . . that I was nothing but a reprobate, devilish monster, a child from hell.

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